by Holly Webb
For Robin and William
~ HOLLY WEBB
For Dan
~ JO
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Snow Bear Extract
The Reindeer Girl Extract
Author Page
Copyright
12th October, 1873
The creek is frozen near solid now. Pa says this is the hardest winter he has ever seen. There was frost on the inside of the windows and the cabin walls this morning when we got up, even though Ma kept the stove burning low through the night. I woke up in the middle of the night shivering, with the wind howling all around us. It felt like hours before I got back to sleep, and all that time I kept thinking that the wind was a wolf padding round the cabin, looking for a way in. The drifts are up to the eaves, and Pa and I dig our way out each morning to get to the stable and feed the horses and the cow.
This morning, I noticed huge icicles hanging from the edges of the cabin roof where the sun melted the snow, and then it’s dripped and frozen again overnight. Seeing them sparkle made me think of Grace. Last year, Pa let me knock two of them down with his hammer, and Grace and me used them for a swordfight, up and down the big room, till mine broke in three pieces and Pa said Grace was the winner. I wish I hadn’t sulked about it now. She was so pleased to have won.
Tangled branches tapped at the windows as the car nosed down the track towards the house. Amelia shivered happily. It was a bit like a fairy tale, this huge, old, abandoned house, deep in the countryside. There had been a sign at the end of the track, half grown over with ivy. Amelia had just about been able to see that it said “Allan House”. It felt like a proper adventure, travelling late into the night, all the way up to Scotland. They hadn’t passed another car for ages, winding along those tiny lanes in the dark.
But as they climbed out of the car, stretching and then shuffling wearily towards the door, Amelia pressed close against her big sister, Bella. She was shy with strangers, and she could hardly remember her cousins at all. Anya was the same age as Bella, Mum had said. Lara was another year older. Tom was ten, a few months older than Amelia. Bella said she remembered Anya and Lara perfectly, and she was looking forward to seeing them again. Amelia had a horrible feeling that the older girls weren’t going to want her hanging around. She was going to be stuck with this boy, Tom. Just because they were cousins, it didn’t mean she was going to get on with him. It was strange, spending Christmas all together, in a house that none of them knew.
Amelia blinked in the sudden golden glow as the front door opened, and then there were loud, excited voices all around, and people laughing and hugging and pulling them inside. Amelia shrank against the wall, watching as her mum kissed a tiny, dark-haired woman who looked amazingly like Mum did. That must be Mum’s cousin Laura, Amelia realized. She hadn’t expected them to look so similar. And the two girls with their arms round Bella were their second cousins.
“And this must be Amelia!” Laura swung round to hug her now, and twirled her fingers in Amelia’s dark curls.
Amelia tried to smile – people always did that, and she had to pretend she didn’t mind.
“Sorry, Amelia, I couldn’t resist – they’re so pretty,” Laura told her, smiling. Laura was her first cousin once removed. Something like that, anyway. But Amelia could hardly call her that. Mum had said it would be simplest just to call her Aunt Laura.
“Hi,” Amelia whispered.
“Do you remember Tom at all?” Aunt Laura asked, ushering a reluctant-looking boy towards Amelia. “You haven’t seen each other for, oh, about three years, so you probably don’t…”
Amelia saw that the boy had dark, floppy hair, and that he was taller than she was (almost everyone was – she was used to it by now). Then she spotted the huge tawny and silver dog that was standing behind him. She took a step back, pressing her hands flat against the faded wallpaper, wishing it would open up behind her so she could get away. Mum had told her that their cousins had a dog and Amelia had been worrying about it for weeks. She’d even woken up in the night panicking a couple of times. But even then, in the dark, she hadn’t imagined a dog that big…
“Oh, so this is your dog,” her mum said, smiling a little worriedly. “Amelia has a bit of a thing about dogs. Is it a he?” she added, looking at the dog uncertainly.
Amelia had no idea how anyone would tell if the dog was a boy or a girl. All she could see were its quivering ears, lots of shaggy brownish-grey fur and its teeth… It looked like some sort of wolf. And it was quite possibly the biggest dog she had ever seen. Even bigger than that horrible dog in the park that had knocked her over a couple of years ago. The owner had tried to tell her that the dog was just excited, but it had barked and barked, right in her face, and Amelia had never felt so scared.
“I’m sure he’s friendly, Amelia,” her mum said gently, reaching out a hand to her, but the dog was in between them, and Amelia couldn’t bring herself to step past it.
She edged further away, and then stopped, realizing that she was right up against the front door. She couldn’t go any further, and now the dog was padding towards her, sniffing at her with interest.
“Hey!” Bella turned round from talking to the other girls, and stepped in front of the dog. “Yes, you’re lovely, aren’t you? But you have to leave Amelia alone, she’s not a dog person.” She held out her hand for the dog to sniff, and it licked her. Bella laughed, but just the sight of that great red tongue made Amelia shudder.
“Are you really frightened of dogs?” Tom asked, staring at her disgustedly.
“A dog knocked Amelia over in the park,” Mum explained, coming to put her arm round Amelia’s shoulders. “It was a big dog, and she got a shock.”
“But Freddie’s not fierce,” Tom objected. “He even lets the little girl next door ride on his back.” Freddie swooshed his massive tail as he heard his name, and Amelia pressed herself against her mum. She knew it was stupid to be scared – she could see that Freddie was friendly – but telling herself that didn’t help. Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure everyone else could hear it, too.
“Take Freddie and put him in the kitchen, Tom,” Aunt Laura said firmly, and Tom marched off, muttering crossly, with Freddie lumbering along behind.
“Are you all right?” Bella nudged Amelia.
“Yes,” Amelia whispered. But she wasn’t. They were staying here for a whole week. It was Christmas in three days. They were going to gather round the tree to sing carols and make a gingerbread house, and do all of Amelia’s favourite Christmas things. It was meant to be the most special time of the year, and now it was ruined. She was going to spend the whole of Christmas hiding from a dog.
Amelia sat on the wide windowsill in her bedroom, wrapped in a woollen blanket she’d found at the bottom of the wardrobe. It was brown and hairy and it had holes in, but it was very warm against the freezing wind that was whistling round the house and doing its best to get inside. Amelia was wearing her fingerless gloves as she wrote in her diary. It had been a Christmas present from her gran last year, and she managed to write in it most days, even if it was only things like, Hate Mrs Turner, and Wish homework had never been invented. But now they were at Allan House, there seemed to be a lot to write about – or at least, there was more time to write. If she went downstairs and tried to watch TV, Tom always seemed to turn up with Freddie. It was as if he was following her. And Bella kept nicking the tablet they were supposed to share.
It
still isn’t snowing, Amelia wrote, peering sadly out of the window. The view was very beautiful, in a grey sort of way. The hills rose up behind the house in great, fat sweeps, covered in green turf that looked like velvet, though it wasn’t at all velvety when you got close up, because Amelia had checked.
When Mum had told them excitedly about the house, and how it belonged to her and Aunt Laura now, and they were going to stay in it for Christmas, she had practically promised it would snow. Sledging, she had said enthusiastically. Snowmen. Snowball fights!
Actually, Amelia thought, resting her cheek against the cold glass for a moment, that was the one good thing about no snow. She was pretty sure that Tom would be lethal with a snowball. And he’d probably cheat and just stuff snow down the back of her neck as well. She shivered, and slid down from the windowsill, wrapping the blanket tighter like a cloak. She would go and explore, she decided. Allan House was huge, and even though this was the second whole day they’d been here, Amelia was pretty sure she hadn’t seen all of it. The house seemed to have a lot more corners than any house she’d been in before. Every time she thought she’d got to the end of it, there would be another little passageway.
She opened her bedroom door and peered round it cautiously. But no paws were padding along the wooden floorboards anywhere close. Letting out a relieved breath, Amelia sneaked into the passageway and looked thoughtfully from side to side. She would head away from the stairs, she decided. Further along, the passage stretched into shadows beyond a huge old wooden cupboard, and it looked exciting. She set off to explore, with the hairy blanket trailing the floor behind her, sweeping up dust.
Until a few months ago, the house had belonged to one of Mum and Laura’s aunts, but Amelia had never met her. She couldn’t imagine the old lady – she had been very old, Mum said – living here all on her own. Surely she had been lonely in such a big house far away from any neighbours? But perhaps that was why it was so full of things. Ornaments and candlesticks and rugs and all those pictures.
Amelia stopped to look at the painting just opposite Bella’s room. It was dark in the passageway, as there were wooden shutters closed over the window, but even in the dimness, the colours glowed. A fire blazed in the middle of the canvas, casting an eerie light on the man sitting behind it. He was wrapped in a dark, hairy blanket, just like Amelia’s. Behind him, another man was sleeping in a sort of hut, made of old branches piled together. Perhaps they were hunters, Amelia thought. It looked like they were deep in a wood. She leaned closer, drawn in by the glowing flames. The sparks were flying up from the fire and glittering in the darkness, and the firelight spread a charmed circle round the two men. But beyond it the trees were thick and dark, and she was sure that there were creatures waiting just on the edge of the light.
Amelia shivered. Probably wolves, even bigger and scarier than Freddie. She stepped back, and saw a name written in the bottom corner of the painting. She squinted down at the signature, trying to make it out, and then smiled delightedly. Noah Allan. The man the house was named after! Mum had told them about him – that he had been born in America, but he’d travelled to France to study. Then he had visited friends in Scotland, and found the dramatic landscape so perfect to paint that he’d settled here. He was Amelia’s great-great-great-grandfather – except that she couldn’t remember quite how many greats there should be. But she knew he had been born more than a hundred and fifty years ago. Her mum had told her that there was a very famous Noah Allan painting in a gallery in London, of a girl and a wolf. They’d go and see it one day, Mum had said.
Amelia was so excited to find another painting by their ancestor that it took her a moment to hear the scuffling and tapping of claws. She clutched the blanket round her in a panic. Tom and that enormous dog were coming up the stairs!
Amelia scuttled down the passageway. She’d done her best to avoid being alone with Tom. He obviously thought she was stupid because she was frightened of dogs and he moaned about having to shut Freddie up during meals, in case he scared Amelia. But Anya had told Amelia that it made it much easier to eat breakfast – if Freddie was around he could have a piece of toast out of your hand in three seconds flat.
Freddie was snuffling his way along the passage now, and Amelia cursed herself for being stupid – why hadn’t she just nipped back into her own bedroom? They would catch up with her any moment, and Freddie would sniff at her, and Tom wouldn’t make him stop, Amelia knew he wouldn’t. He’d just laugh.
Amelia ducked round the huge wooden cupboard, and stood there in the shadows, hoping they’d go straight past. But she could hear Freddie sniffing at everything, and Tom sniggering as the dust made the huge dog sneeze. There was no way Freddie was going to miss her. And it would be obvious that she was hiding, and Tom would tell everyone, like it was a great big joke.
Amelia leaned back, trying to wriggle into the corner where the cupboard wasn’t pushed right up against the wall. Except that her blanket was catching on something sticking out of the wall. She looked round cautiously and realized that she wasn’t leaning on a wall at all.
It was a door.
15th October, 1873
Mr Wright and Joshua came by this morning. I haven’t seen Joshua since they helped with killing the pig a few weeks back, and I haven’t missed him. Sometimes I wish we had neighbours closer by, but then they might be like him. I swear he spent the whole visit smirking at me and pulling faces.
They came to tell us that they’d seen a wolf slinking round their cabin. That had Pa listening. He doesn’t always pay attention to Mr Wright – says he’s always complaining about something, and he borrows tools and brings them back dirty. But the Wrights are the only other family between here and the town, and that’s a day’s journey. So it’s best to keep friends with them, even if it means listening to Samson Wright moan, Pa says.
Mr Wright said their dogs had been acting funny for a couple of nights, and he thought there was something around. He guessed it was a bear – there’s a big old black bear that Pa saw a few times earlier in the autumn, sniffing round the pigpen. But then in the morning he found tracks in the snow and he knew it was a wolf. Just one, Mr Wright said, and I could see Pa looking funny at that, as though he thought it was odd to have only one wolf, when they almost always hunt in packs. I suppose that means it’s a loner, and that means trouble. A lone wolf is desperate. I wonder if it really was a wolf I heard, then, a few nights back?
Mr Wright and Joshua sat up watching for it last night, and Joshua got a shot at the wolf, but only just clipped it, he reckons. It ran off, anyways. He’s acting like he’s some mighty hero, shooting a wolf, but if all he’s done is wound the poor beast, now it’s going to be even more maddened and fierce.
Pa’s sitting up late tonight, making bullets.
Amelia slid up the latch – that was what the blanket had got caught on, she realized. She eased the door open, holding her breath and waiting for it to creak. But it didn’t. A faint bar of light shone out into the passage, and Amelia wormed her way round the door. It opened just wide enough to let her through. There was no rush of feet or scurry of paws as she drew the door shut again behind her. Tom and Freddie hadn’t heard.
In front of her was a steep, narrow staircase, thick with dust. Amelia glanced back at the door, and tested the first step with her foot to see if it creaked. The step gave a faint sigh, and Amelia thought it almost sounded pleased, but it was only the old wood giving under her weight. She tiptoed up the rest of the little staircase, trying hard not to sneeze with all the dust. Below her she could hear Tom talking to Freddie, but he seemed very far away. She was somehow certain that he didn’t know about the door. This place belonged to her.
The stairs opened up into a tiny, light-filled room. This must be the very top of the house, Amelia decided, where those two little windows were, right up in the roof. High up here, there was even a pale glow of sunlight, shimmering through the dirty glass.
The attic was full of boxes – not the boring
cardboard sort that were stacked up in the loft at home, full of Amelia’s outgrown baby clothes and old wellingtons. Here there were wooden packing crates, fat trunks and old leather suitcases, plastered with faded labels. Ancient pieces of furniture were clustered around as well: an armchair with half its stuffing escaping, and a spindly little table, piled high with books. Amelia wrapped the blanket tighter round her shoulders – it was even colder up here, right under the roof.
Curiously, she turned over the books on the little table and found that they were school books – the one on top had a faded brown cover, and was full of odd little stories in French. At least, Amelia thought it was French. There was a picture of a very cross little girl on the first page, with an even crosser cat in her arms.
Amelia crouched down in front of a big leather trunk and pushed hopefully at the brass clasp holding it shut. It was stiff, but then it sprang open, making her jump. She held her breath as she lifted up the lid, wondering who had been the last person to look inside. Maybe no one had opened the trunk since it had been hauled up here. She sniffed cautiously as she leaned the lid against the armchair, but the clothes in the trunk smelled faintly of herbs and weren’t at all musty or damp. Carefully, Amelia lifted out the dark garments, unfolding them and holding them up. Two jackets, a heavy, checked woollen coat, several patched and faded shirts, and a hat that made Amelia shudder. She was sure that the soft, dark fur of the hat was real. But she supposed that a long time ago, a fur hat would have been the best way to keep warm. She didn’t want to try it on, though.
The jackets and shirts were big, about Amelia’s father’s size, she thought, but the coat looked smaller, as though it had been made for a child. Amelia stroked the wooden buttons, satin smooth, and wondered who had carved them. Then, all of a sudden, she slid the blanket off her shoulders, and pulled on the coat instead, buttoning it down the front, and turning the wide collar up round her ears to keep herself warm. She picked her way across the floor to an old mirror that leaned against another of the wooden chests, then turned and swayed in front of it, trying to catch a glimpse of herself in the mottled glass. The coat was shapeless, and faded, but very warm. Its lining was quilted, and Amelia felt as though she was wearing a duvet. She peered into the mirror one last time, and sank her hands into the deep pockets. Her fingers were stiffening up from the cold.
